A tiny woman with work-a-day dirt on her face demanded the wagon train stop before the next filthy man with a half empty bottle of whiskey spit out the usual semi-coherent blah blah blah that meant stop.
As so called frontier beans were slowly heating above yet another fire, lurking scoundrels began running beyond the spinning spoked wheels which rolled with a rickety rack towards the many unclaimed parcels of land that were up for grabs.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads